


The Young Blood Chronicles

by iamshirelocked



Category: Fall Out Boy, The Youngblood Chronicles (Music Video)
Genre: Chronicles, book version, youngblood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4819895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamshirelocked/pseuds/iamshirelocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The match lit up the right half of his face, dimly revealing dark skin and a thin goatee. He stared at the dancing flame for a moment through tinted sunglasses, a wicked grin forming across his features. He flicked the match onto the leafy bed, starting a chain reaction.<br/>He stepped back. His shoulders hunched, he was watching as the flames made their way along the ground, inching closer and closer to the pile of sticks. He craved the moment when the pile would become engulfed in flame, the entire clearing glowing with bright orange light.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the first chapter of the YBC! I hope you all enjoy it!  
> Also, the co-writer (she doesnt have an archive acc) and I divided up the characters. I wrote for Patrick and Andy, and she for Pete and Joe.  
> We have up to the Mighty Fall written right now, but we will be posting the chapters regularly so we don't get behind.  
> -Olivia

Patrick’s hand trembled slightly; he was biting his lip as he flipped the lock on the silver briefcase open. Him and the guys had no idea what was inside, just that it was important. Important enough to be in a locked briefcase AND to cause an army of God knows who or what to come after them. But they were stuck with it now. There was no turning back. “Are you sure you don’t want to just take it to the police, guys?” Patrick’s hand was resting on the handle, about to pry it open. “We can’t get into any more trouble.”

Pete sighed, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, just open it. It can’t be too bad.”

“Yeah, if it’s not big or anything we can just take it to the station.” Joe piped up.

Patrick glanced at Andy, who simply shrugged. The singer gave a loud, nervous sigh, before reluctantly lifting his hand up, opening the briefcase. Almost instantly, Patrick’s eyes narrowed due to the bright light.

“Holy shit!” Patrick heard Pete exclaim as his eyes began to adjust. Patrick rose his hand to his mouth in shock. This was too important to leave to the authorities. They would have to take it to Brendon to see what he knew (he was the person who told them about the briefcase in the first place).

With all of the boys still in shock, Patrick slammed the case shut and the room dimmed. “We have to take it to Brendon.”

“Yup.”

“I’ll do it.” Pete volunteered, but Andy shook his head.

“Nah, you’ll make it obvious that you’re carrying something of value.” The redhead looked over to Patrick, who was still wide-eyed. “Patrick? How about you?”

He looked down quickly, but nodded his head. “Yeah, that seems best.” Patrick looked up and reached his arm out to grab the briefcase, but Pete grabbed his wrist.

“Hold on.” Pete darted out of the room, and for a minute left the three remaining in silence. The moments went by slowly, each millisecond seeming like thirty. But Pete came back with silver handcuffs clinking in his hand. “It’s so they can’t take it from you.”

Joe scoffed. “Why do you have handcuffs?”

Pete barely paid attention, unlocking the cuffs and attaching one to the briefcase. He opened the other one and put it around Patrick’s left wrist. “You don’t wanna know.”

Patrick took another deep breath, his left hand gripping the handle of the cold metal case. He nodded to the guys. “I’ll take it over to Brendon. Text you when I get it to him.”

“Good plan.”

“And if something goes wrong?” Andy asked worriedly, his eyes flashing over to Patrick, and then the case.

Pete looked up and sighed. “You’ll know. I’ll send the bird. Keep an eye out for it.”

Andy breathed out and nodded. “Go,” he told Patrick.

Patrick curved his lips slightly, sliding the briefcase off the table, his body tilting slightly at the added weight. His eyes darted back up to the boys. “Wish me luck.”

\--OoO--OoO--

Patrick’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest as he speed-walked down the pavement, his ankles beginning to get weak. His left hand- now anxious and shaking- held onto the briefcase handle for dear life, and he began to break out into a sweat on his forehead. The neighborhood was unusually silent. All of the other times when he would walk through the small development the kids rode their bikes, played kickball in the streets, doodled all over their driveways with sidewalk chalk. His ears would be filled with the sounds of children shouting scores and bike chains creaking. But nobody could be seen- or heard today.

Patrick felt a tense feeling, almost as if there were footsteps creeping up from behind him. In an instant, he snapped his head back, his eyes zipping back and forth to try and notice anything out of place. After a few seconds, Patrick reluctantly turned his head back around (but not before getting one more short look) and kept walking.

As his mind was rapidly beginning to come up with possible worst-case scenarios, the singer would follow this cycle without fail for the next five minutes:

  1. Walk
  2. Grip the briefcase tighter
  3. Are those footsteps?
  4. Turn around
  5. Nothing.
  6. Turn back around
  7. Take one more look behind him
  8. Keep walking



Everything felt fine, no matter how many times he repeated the cycle. But Patrick didn’t let his senses overpower his brain. He knew everything wasn’t alright. He knew they were probably here, hiding, preparing to pounce on him at any moment.

But he kept walking. Alone. He couldn’t turn back.

After he looked behind himself yet again (was it the thirteenth time? he couldn’t remember), he turned around and almost jumped back in surprise. His breath shallowed for just a moment, but he let a deep breath out when he realized it was just a kid; he couldn’t have been older than ten, with curly brown hair-reminded him of Joe- and a black beanie on. He looked over to Patrick, the creaking of his bike chains coming to a sudden halt.

_What do I do? Is he with them?_ Patrick shook his head internally. _Don’t be silly. He’s just a kid. C’mon Stump._

“Hey.” The singer felt his lips curling upwards into an awkward smile. He raised his right hand slowly to give a small wave to the boy, hoping he came off as friendly.

The boy smiled back.

Patrick squeezed the handle tighter, paranoia building up in his stomach; he felt the need to turn around. He was certain something was there. But the boy would think he was crazy. But he heard footsteps, heels clacking on the concrete behind him.

He had to turn around.

The boy grinned wider.

He started to whip around.

But he was a second too late, and an electrical shock found its way to Patrick’s neck, knocking him out cold.

\--OoO--OoO--

“Man, I hope he’s doing all right.” Pete stared out of the window, Patrick being the only thing on his mind.

“He’ll be fine. You said you trusted him with this, right?” His girlfriend, Tessa, was lying in bed next to him. Pete had only told her a few minor details about what Patrick was doing - ‘a few minor details’ meaning a complete lie. Pete had said that Patrick was going to a meeting with a manager that could make or break the band’s career, which, in comparison to life or death, seemed like the least of the group’s problems.

“I do trust him, but this is so important.”

“Patrick cares about the band just as much as you do. Relax.”

“I just really hope he doesn’t screw up.” Pete sighed and looked back at Tessa. She smiled reassuringly.

The moment was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Pete sat up, a puzzled expression crossing his face.  _Who the hell is coming to my house with no warning in the middle of the day?_ he wondered. He stood, marching through the house to the door, running a hand through his bedhead. He opened it slowly and noticed a grocery bag hanging from the outside handle. There was no person to be seen. Pete rolled his eyes. _Must have been a prank._

He was taken aback when he opened the bag. A hand, an actual human hand, was sitting inside of it, staining the plastic with blood. Pete almost pitched the bag on the ground in disgust before noticing the familiar symbol on it.

Patrick’s tattoo.

“Damnit,” he mumbled. He darted into his garage and threw a box and a cage into the front seat of his car. As he drove away, he remembered leaving Tessa in his bed, but he didn’t care at that point. If he didn’t get the word out to Joe and Andy, she could be dead in a day just like the rest of them.

A screech sounded from the cage beside him. Pete shushed the majestic brown bird sitting in it and opened the box to reveal a single, thick, brown glove. He inhaled deeply before stepping out of the car and pulling the glove over his trembling hand.

\--OoO--OoO--

Andy probably should’ve waited to go to the grocery store. But he was out of almond milk- and he _needed_ it to make his protein shake.

Yet, he probably still should have waited.

But either way, Andy had just parked a relatively far distance from the store, stepping out of his car and stretching his head to the side. As he walked away, pressing the lock button twice on his keys, he heard a cawing. He kept walking, but tilted his head upwards to see a bird. A bird with brown feathers flew above the parking lot.

Andy quickly looked around to see other people staring up too, but then they would shrug it off like it was the average bird sighting. They didn’t know what the bird meant, so those people kept on walking closer to the shop.

But Andy, he stayed right where he was. He knew what the bird meant. The bird meant trouble; something had happened to Patrick.

Andy stared at the bird as it soared above the lot, dipping and cruising around before disappearing from sight over the other side of the Safeway. He began to wonder what had happened that caused Pete had to release Phoenix so early in the day.

Andy knew he would have to get that almond milk later. Their plan hadn’t worked out after all. Andy sighed. Maybe they all just should have gone to Brendon’s together.

Before Andy could dash back to his car, however, a black van appeared directly in front of the vegan. Still distracted and deep in thought, he didn’t realize he was being pushed in until he fell painfully on his stomach and heard the door shut, engulfing him and his kidnapper in darkness.

\--OoO--OoO--

Patrick screamed, pain ringing through his ears, every inch of his body wanting to give up. They had taken him, tied him up, poked at him with sharp objects of all kinds. They didn’t listen to his pleas for help, his begging for mercy. They just cared about that goddamn briefcase.

They cared about it so much, they had chopped off his hand.

He had screamed louder than ever, his vocal chords- he was sure they were permanently damaged. He knew he would never sing the same again.

They had the briefcase now. The secret the boys and him were so determined to protect. Patrick genuinely believed that Pete’s idea of handcuffing his hand to the briefcase would be the perfect way to keep it in control of their band.

But people have their ways, as sick as they are.

And they didn’t even stop there. The girls had strapped Patrick down to a red operation table, the hard cushioning of the bed not helping the soreness and his headache. His now stump arm was cheaply bandaged with cloth gauze and blood mixed with sweat was dripping rapidly down the side of his face. As Patrick’s headache got larger, the singer struggled frantically against his restraints. He began to go numb, his entire body starting to shut down. In a way, Patrick wanted it to. He wanted to sleep through this. He didn’t want to have to deal with the pain any longer.

But the girls noticed this, and they sure as hell wouldn’t let Patrick’s bliss last for too long. Patrick gave a sudden jolt upwards, screaming louder than ever before as the girls slowly, painfully, split and sliced open the singer’s sides.

\--OoO--OoO--

Joe was smoking a cigarette, trying to get his mind off of Patrick’s important task. He hadn’t seen Phoenix in the sky yet, which was supposed to be a good sign. He just hoped it wasn’t because Pete had gotten in trouble as well.

Joe breathed in, letting the toxic taste of the tobacco fill his lungs. Tapping his feet against the concrete impatiently, he looked over at the gas meter to see if his car was nearly filled with gas. He bit his lip and took another whiff of his cigarette when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bird. A large, brown bird. His eyes widened with overwhelming fear.

“Oh, God.” He slowly stepped backwards, about to jump into his car and get out of the area as soon as he could. Before he could comprehend what happened, a sterile, alcohol-like smell filled his nostrils and his screams were becoming muffled by some kind of cloth. “W... whuz goin’ on…” he managed to get a few words out, but they were lost in the sound of the engine of the car he had been dragged into.

\--OoO--OoO--

Patrick needed to surrender. But they would never let him. The girls didn’t stop playing with his insides, removing them, replacing them, changing them. He had no clue what they were doing to him… but what he wondered more was: Why?

\--OoO--OoO--

Pete watched solemnly as Phoenix flew into the clear, blue sky. He knew he should get going if he wanted to get a chance at saving Patrick from whatever terrible pain he would go through. They already took his hand, and Pete was positive that wouldn’t be enough for their little game.

He spent one last moment looking at Phoenix disappearing from his view and was about to turn around to get in his car when a small needle pinned a hole in his neck and sent a liquid surging through his veins. He grabbed at the needle, but he was already slipping out of consciousness.

Two hands wrapped around him, holding him steady as he fell.

He knew that touch.

It was Tessa.


	2. Young Volcanoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yay! here's chapter two!!! i hope y'all enjoy it :)  
> also, this one is a bit shorter cause idk there isn't that much to write, yanno? there are a few installments like that (my songs and miss missing you are future ones that may also be short)  
> P.S. i tried to go for the whole 'patrick is high' aspect so i didn't just write like i was high for no reason. it's for _dramatic effect_

Patrick’s head lolled to the side, his mouth unknowingly hanging open. After the ‘surgery’, the girls had tied him to a _much_ more comfortable chair in front of an elegant table littered with wine glasses and food platters. The smell of freshly cooked meat faintly found it’s way into Patrick’s nose. Patrick swore he could even see a red striped snake sliding around a pile of apples. He found it rather beautiful. Patrick was also feeling sleepy. He had been for a while now- since the girls put that weird needle thing in his hand. Had it been a few hours? Patrick didn’t really care. The singer heard screams coming from a few rooms over. _Ha, those screams sound like my band._ He gave a slight chuckle. His band. They had written a song recently- what was it called? Patrick furrowed his brow, resting his remaining hand on the arm of the chair and leaning back.

“Hey, let us go!” A high pitched voice- Andy, probably- yelled, and Patrick remembered, sucking in a loud gasp.

He slowly began to snap his fingers to a 4/4 beat- well... at least he thought he was snapping. Due to the massive amount of blood on his fingers, the ‘snapping’ was simply a result of his middle finger and thumb slipping and sliding past each other repeatedly, not making a sound. Though his mouth did make a sound. An ad-lib of the syllable “duh”. He continued “snapping”, swinging his head back and forth to the imaginary beat.

_“When Rome’s in ruins_

_We are the lions_

_Free of the Coliseums”_

Patrick smiled, glad he could remember such a great song. He felt the snapping went perfectly with it. So he continued.

_“In poisoned places_

_We are anti-venom_

_We’re the beginning of the end”_

Patrick heard his friends get closer and smiled larger- maybe they could sing too!

_“Tonight, the foxes hunt the hounds_

_It’s all over now_

_Before it has begun”_

Patrick swayed his hand now, effortlessly, calmly- as if it were a boat floating in slow, bobbing waves. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

_“We’ve already won!”_

The singer heard his friends being brought in, but being too immersed in the song, simply continued to sway his hand and sing. While he was upset they didn’t sing with him, he decided not to make a big deal out of it.

_“We are wild"_

_"We are like Young Volcanoes!"_

Patrick threw his head back and sang loud so everyone could hear the beauty of the song. He was determined to get his band to sing with him. After all, what would a feast be without singing?

_“We are wild_

_Americana, exotica_

_Do you wanna feel a little beautiful baby?”_

\--OoO--OoO--

Pete was fighting with all his strength. He was blindfolded and tied up, being dragged into a new room. Where were they taking him now? He could hear Andy and Joe grunting and resisting against their captors as well. When the group entered this new room and were forced to sit down, Pete could hear a sound, a mixture of mumbling and humming. He knew the voice, as well. He had heard it thousands of times, concert after concert, recording after recording.

It was Patrick, and he was alive.

“Patrick!” Pete called out desperately. “What’s going on?”

He waited for a response, but Patrick just kept humming. Pete could make out a familiar rhythm in the nonsense. He was singing ‘Young Volcanoes’, a song they had written recently. Pete sighed. How could he be singing right now?

Pete groaned as an IV was crudely shoved in his hand.

“God,” he whispered. “Patrick, stop singing and help us get out!”

“Shut up,” a girl’s voice accompanied a hard slap across Pete’s face. He turned his face to the ground - at least, he thought it was the ground. He was pretty disoriented after being unconscious and blindfolded for so long.

“Just let us go,” Andy pleaded.

“Let me think about that,” another girl replied to him. “Thought about it - no.”

Patrick was still mumbling happily. “Jesus, Patrick, stop fucking singing! This isn’t the time for a goddamn band rehearsal!” Pete yelled, only to be answered with another blow to the face. He strained against the ropes that bound him to the chair. After a minute or two, he stopped resisting and just sat back in the chair. He was tired. He didn’t want to struggle. He was probably going to die anyway. There was no point.

The war was over, and they had lost.

\--OoO--OoO--

Patrick was mumbling ‘Young Volcanoes’. Joe wished he would shut up.

He could hear liquid being poured, and before he knew it there was a glass against his lip and a drink being forced down his throat. He sputtered, but didn’t fight it. He knew any attempt at resistance would be futile. He painfully swallowed the strange liquid and felt it immediately wanting to come back up. What the hell were they giving him? Joe wanted to know what was happening, especially he heard Pete let out a sound that was similar to a roar. Was he the only one blindfolded? Suddenly a tube was being shoved into his mouth, and that familiar taste of smoke worked its way onto his tongue.

He coughed and coughed and wished he had a glass of water to wash away the rotting in his body. “No, take it away.” He muttered. “Stop!”

But they didn’t listen- or they didn’t hear. Not long after the smoke, another tube was shoved into his nose. As he inhaled, his nostril was coated in a powdery substance. He sneezed and tried to focus on finding a weakness in his captors’ methods.

The noise of clinking metal rang in Joe’s ears. _Could it be weapons?_ Joe straightened his back against the chair, trying desperately to move his restraints even a bit so he could fight back. He was imagining every possible worst case scenario, so he was very surprised when an apple was shoved in his mouth.

He felt like a dead pig sitting on a dinner platter.

Joe felt his eyes widen underneath the blindfold. Were they going to eat him?

No, that was ridiculous. They couldn’t have been that fucked up.

Or could they be? He saw a bright light filtering in from the sides of his blindfold. Could this have been the end? Joe struggled once more, as a final form of resistance, but found his hands were free. Joe tilted his head to the side, and lifted the blindfold. He was pleased to see his friends sitting around a table in front of him. They all greeted each other and raised their glasses. “To being reunited,” Andy smiled warmly.

“To Fall Out Boy!” Pete chugged his glass of wine, laughing enthusiastically.

\--OoO--OoO--

Andy clinked glasses with Patrick, beginning to sing along with the familiar words. Patrick laughed in reply and then Andy leaned in to give Patrick a long hug.

“You have the voice of an angel, dude.” Andy laughed out loud and slapped Patrick on the shoulder.

Andy loved being reunited with the band, even if it was for something as simple as a dinner party. He went over to hug Pete, but looked over to the food sitting on the table. His eyes widened and he slapped Pete, who had been making out with a girl in a pig mask.

“Pete!”

“Annndddyyyy!”

“Are those organs?” Andy pointed his hand to the silver plate in front of him; it appeared to have a lung on it.

Pete laughed and threw his head back, taking another sip of wine. “Who cares?” He raised up his left hand, his pinky and thumb sticking out. He waved it around. “You gotta live in the moment.” He grinned and squeezed his eyes shut. “YOLO!”

Andy agreed. Who cared if they were being cannibals?! That party was dope.

\--OoO--OoO--

Patrick sat back down in his chair, snapping some more, humming the tune to the best song ever. He loved hanging out with his friends, eating food, singing. And he was doing them all at once! Not to mention Andy sang along with him!

He smiled and giggled as one of the girls- hadn’t she had her shirt off a moment ago?- began to feed him some of the best meat he’d ever had in his whole life. He made a mental note to ask the girls for the recipes later. He needed to know how to recreate such a meal.

Patrick laid his head back, the sense of euphoria making him feel tired and happy and excited. They were wild.

As he sang the last line of the song, he snapped one final time. The lights disappeared, leaving the four friends alone in darkness.


	3. Alone Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for such a long wait, but here's chapter three: alone together!

The music blared through the headphones suddenly, causing Andy to shoot his head up in surprise. What had happened?

He looked around frantically to find he was in a house- was it? Probably. It appeared all vintage and reminded him of an old folk’s home. There was a comfy-looking chair in one corner of the room, and an old television in the other. Andy was in a straight jacket, on a wooden chair, in the middle of it all.

Andy struggled against the straight jacket, turning from side to side, his head beginning to get dizzy. His ears began to sting; the loud, old-fashioned music was given a creepy twist, and was no doubt turned up to full volume. He was certain he would be deaf after this… or at least experience some hearing loss. It was hard to concentrate on anything with the music so loud, but Andy attempted to think of ways that could help him get out of there. The music was so distracting. But he had to try and get out of there. Only God knew where his friends were, and what was happening to them. Were they experiencing the same thing as him? Or worse?

No matter how hard Andy tried, he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. He shook his head, trying to get the headphones off of his ears, but, after numerous attempts, failed. His head began to feel light and the drummer squinted his eyes, screaming as loud as he could; he could barely hear it over the music.

Andy continued to shake his head, the music blaring holes through his ears. He didn’t realize someone else had walked in until his chin was tilted upwards to look at his tormenter. She was a woman with dyed white hair; she wore a black fur cardigan and had a menacing look in her eyes. She smirked at him, and in reply Andy spat at her, his fear being stirred together with blinding rage. Offended, the woman slapped him across the face, and then proceeded to walk behind him. Andy followed her with his eyes, and she eventually stopped in front of a record player behind him. She took the vinyl off of the player and Andy felt bliss. His ears’ pain slowly faded, and Andy released a grateful sigh.

But, a few seconds later, a minor rendition of All Star by Smash Mouth began to ring through his headphones. Andy screamed once more, realization that she had changed the record dawning on him.

He noticed her getting down and crawling around on the carpet out of the corner of his eye, and he snapped his head over to see her fingering the old television. Andy was featured on the screen, causing him to shake once more. In the center of the screen, there was a flashing ‘Congratulations!’, and Andy’s stomach rearranged itself into multiple knots.

He doubled over and screamed, yet again.

\--OoO--OoO--

The room was small and dark except for a single spotlight. Joe held his head up, temporarily blinded by the change in brightness. He tried to move his arms but realized with a jolt of terror that he was in a straightjacket. He thrashed around, trying to break loose, to no avail. He calmed for a moment, trying to regain his focus.

The laughter of children echoed in the room as three young girls gathered around him. They ran to the center of the room, sitting around a table that Joe hadn’t noticed before. The girls picked up the strange array of objects on the table - eggs, tomatoes, bananas, and a head of lettuce - and pelted Joe with them. He strained to get out of the chair he was held in, screaming and fighting. He shouted into the microphone placed in front of him, praying someone would hear him and help.

\--OoO--OoO--

When Patrick awoke to the whirring of machines and a scream from a place he couldn’t tell, he immediately began to struggle. He failed to realize the leather straps that were digging into his skin, confining him to the wooden chair. “Help!” The singer leaned forward, coming to terms with his condition.

Patrick laid back in defeat; the only sound he could hear was his heavy breath, the clicking and beeping of the machines surrounding him. The only light in the room came from a few candles on the nearby piano, and of the dim, buzzing electronics. The singer’s eyes panned over to the sides of the chair, where he caught a glance at the many machines he’d heard shortly before- his head was in too much pain to count how many.

But one thing Patrick knew about those machines was that they were hooked up to him, altering his body chemistry even further - if that was even possible. He threw his body back and forth, shaking the chair and the wires connected to him. He screamed, yelled to get out of there. After all, he was in a church; someone could have been nearby. Tears welled up in his eyes as he screamed again, and again. Nobody was there. Nobody could hear him. He was all alone.

A few agonizing minutes later, two girls- they looked like the ones who chopped off his hand- entered the room, strutting down the church aisle, their hands interlocked. Patrick struggled again, his heart pounding quickly.

The eerie scene seemed to go in slow motion, and Patrick felt hopeless, alone. Every step the girls took was a threat, every raised eyebrow was a gunshot to the heart, every chuckle was the amputation of a limb. The singer squeezed his eyelids shut, tears falling from their ducts; he was praying that somehow, in some way, this was just a dream.

\--OoO--OoO--

Pete opened his eyes and tried to stretch his arms, only to find they were locked into place in a white straightjacket. All around him were mannequins with cameras wrapped around their necks. Whatever kind of torture he was going to go through, the perpetrator wanted to document it. He immediately started yelling and thrashing, trying to break out of the thick fabric. Looking at his surroundings, he noticed a fire alarm switch on the wall to the right of his chair. If he could escape, he could trigger the alarm and hopefully buy a few minutes for him and his friends to get out of wherever they were.

The creak of a door opening stopped Pete from fighting for a moment. A girl in her twenties strutted through the door, wearing all black, but most noticeably, a hook on her left hand. Pete’s breath stopped for a second, his heartbeat quickening. The cameras around the mannequins began to flash violently, filling the room with strobe-like lights. The girl picked up a camera herself and snapped some photos of Pete struggling and suffering. Eventually, he gave up hope that she would ever let him out and he just began to glare into the camera.

The girl began to look at him seductively, and Pete saw his chance to escape. He returned her suggestive glances, and she began to stroke his shoulder. Pete kissed her, and she climbed onto his lap and their tongues collided. Finally, she started to take off Pete’s straightjacket. He pulled her closer to him, and forcefully threw her to the ground. He stole the hook from her hand while she begged and pleaded with him, but he wouldn’t listen. He was going to escape. He didn’t care what he needed to do.

Taking the hook in both hands, he slammed it against her neck, feeling as the sharp metal tore open her skin. He repeated this until he was sure she would never run after him, and he took off.

After Pete had been running for a few minutes, searching desperately for any person who wasn’t his enemy, red emergency lights corsucated and the bell of a fire alarm echoed through the building. Thinking back to the switch in the room he was trapped in, he knew somebody had found the puddle of blood that surrounded the girl he killed. He sped through the halls, the anguish he knew his friends were in propelling his legs to go even faster.

\--OoO--OoO--

Flashing red lights and a loud alarm took over Joe’s senses. The little girls started to go even more crazy, running around and throwing the food all over the room. They yelled and jumped, having uncontrollable tantrums.

When they had been doing this for what felt like hours, he felt himself give up. He let his head fall to the side, and he just let the food hit him. Soon, the sounds of screaming children and fire alarms dulled in his head. He closed his eyes and let the numbness control his mind.

\--OoO--OoO--

The blaring of an alarm began to sound over the loud music, red lights pouring in and flashing all over the room. Was there a fire? The drummer looked over to the girl, who didn’t stop crawling around, changing the record. Why wasn't she evacuating? Andy zipped his head around frantically, trying to stand up from the chair and get out of there. He felt like he was in a rave, the loud music and strobe lights mimicking a scene he had rarely been to.

“There’s a fire!” He felt himself mouthing the words, but wasn’t sure if the sound actually came out- or was even heard. The woman shook her head, laughing. She stood up, carefully lifting one side of the headphones up.

“That’s what you think!” She screeched loudly, her voice like nails down a chalkboard. Andy shook his head, crying out at the noise as she placed the headphones back on his head.

“What else would it be?”

She snickered, her eyes glinting with mischief as she was lifting up the other side. She simply screamed at the top of her lungs for a good ten seconds, her voice alone doing more damage than the music. His head pounded, beginning to throb in pain. A tear fell from his eyes as he rocked from side to side, just wanting to get out of there.

He began to wonder what had happened to the other guys, if they were still alive. Maybe they had escaped? Maybe that was why the alarms were going off. Maybe it wasn’t a fire alarm... but an escape alarm! Could his friends have been coming to save him?

The white-haired woman smirked, raised her eyebrows, and gave the chair a strong push. Andy went tumbling down to the tough, hard carpet; his right arm and left forearm cracked and bruised as he groaned and screamed from the sudden impact. The headphones had fallen off, but the screams and cackles of his torturer rung painfully through his ears more than any music could.

\--OoO--OoO--

Run. Throw open a door. Run more. Look around. Open another door. Run.

None of the doors Pete had slammed open had contained anything of interest except one. It was a closet, very small and dark, filled with old Fall Out Boy merchandise. Seeing this only made him think more about the rest of his band, and feel more distressed and worried.

What if it was too late for them?

His lungs begged for him to stop running, but Pete fought them.

He heard two doors swing open behind him and, although he knew he shouldn't, he instinctively turned his head. Two girls dressed in black were quickly gaining speed, obviously coming after Pete. He sprinted as fast as he could, his breath almost giving out. He looked behind him again and slipped, crashing to the floor. He slid across the smooth tiles and scrambled to get a hold on his feet. The girls caught up to him and began scratching at him with their bare hands. Pete struggled to crawl away, fighting with all his will. Luckily, he was able to pull himself back upright and bolted faster than ever.

When he thought he had gotten away from his pursuers, he kicked open a door and jumped through the threshold, praying that Patrick, Joe, or Andy was concealed behind it. But when he turned, he found not his bandmates, but the one of their friends, Sean. He was held in a straightjacket as well.

“HELP!” he bellowed over the alarm bells when he saw Pete. The bassist looked over his shoulder, debating whether or not he should make his band a priority over Sean. Seeing the pain and hopelessness in Sean’s eyes, he decided to free him. Putting Sean on their side gave them a number against the kidnappers.

Pete tore open Sean’s straightjacket with the bloody hook he had never let go of. As soon as he was sure Sean could get out of the bindings, he took off once again, desperate to find any of his band. When he reached a door marked “Stairwell”, he was prepared to look on any other floor he could for them, but he was caught off guard when another murderous girl emerged from it, already running towards him. He immediately spun around on his heels, his mind only telling him to run. The chase continued with Pete dashing through the halls with a bloodthirsty kidnapper close behind.

Somewhere along the way, he lost his pursuer, but he knew there were more coming. He slid past a large glass door with the faint sound of machines echoing from behind it. He entered the room and felt relief rush through his blood.

Patrick was sitting in the chair. He was alive. He was safe.

\--OoO--OoO--

Energy began to surge through his body like a power line, making the singer’s eyes widen as he let out a muffled cry. His head was pulsing, electricity beginning to slowly take over his form. Pain was the only thing he was aware of; he didn’t even come to the realization that the girls were gone until he found himself trying to shake the chair frantically, his head ready to explode. Patrick continued to tremble and struggle, his life force being drained. The last thing he noticed was a change in the limited sight he had. Red lights flashed. An alarm was buzzing repeatedly overhead. His vision became blurry as the pain faded. He never got the chance to figure out why as his brain fell dead, a newer, stronger one rising from the broken remains.

Suddenly, his body stopped pulsing. His eyes - which were now a sickly yellow- glared daggers at a new man in the room. He had dark hair, dark clothes, and was about the same height as Patrick, who recognized him as his old band mate: Pete Wentz. Patrick, for a moment smiled at him, remembering the old times, the fun they had together. As a band.

_You hate him, Patrick._ That was right, he hated Pete. He hated him so much.

His former friend took a step farther along the aisle, fear and concern crossing his face. Patrick laughed. _He should fear me._ Patrick was so much stronger, better. _I could kill him, if I wanted to. I bet he deserves it._

_But he never did anything! He was Patrick’s best friend. I can’t kill him!_

_He is a foe. Look! He’s holding a hook- and he’s covered in blood! You have to kill him. Destroy him. Before he destroys you._

_NO!_

_You have to, Patrick. It’s better for both of us._

Patrick’s eyes widened in realization. It was the better option to kill Pete. He agreed with the voice in his head, ruthlessly trying to break free from the chair and strike.

\--OoO--OoO--

Something was wrong with him. He was staring straight ahead, twitching and grunting. His eyes were glowing a vibrant yellow instead of their usual hazel-green. Wires were plugged into his skin in more places than Pete could count. When he tried to pull them out, the person he thought was his best friend attacked him.

“Patrick! Calm down!” Pete yelled as Patrick tried to break out of the chair. The singer had a vicious snarl in his throat and a look that could kill. Pete stared forlornly at the body that had once held the caring person he knew. He couldn’t pause for long, and he knew it. He continued to rip out the wires that were doing who knows what to Patrick’s brain. Pete noticed the fleshy stump that his wrist ended in, and realized that the hook he had stolen served a bigger purpose than a murder weapon. He forced the metal cup over Patrick’s arm and watched as his friend’s yells were drowned out by alarm bells.

Before he could comprehend what was going on, a small pinpoint stabbed his neck and an overwhelming sense of numbness filled Pete’s body. He reached up to his neck, looking in fear at Patrick’s glaring, empty face before he fell to the ground, unconscious.


End file.
